Notes: Originally they were supposed to travel in a carriage down the road. But because of the length of the road and the problem of resting the horses every little while, I determined it would be far wiser for them to take a car. Hence, Charon now has a driver's license.

Chapter Eight

For the second time in as many days, a vehicle bumped along the path through the woods. This time, instead of a carriage it was a car, hired from just inside the city gates. The time it would take to travel by carriage would take far too long, Charon had told Ahiru and Autor, especially considering how often they would need to stop and rest the horses. And he did possess a driver's license, albeit he rarely needed to make use of it.

Autor had been quite agreeable to taking a car, and Ahiru certainly did not have an objection. They needed to hurry.

Both Autor and Ahiru were in the back. Charon had insisted that Autor try to conserve his strength and rest on the trip, which Autor was finding was difficult to do as the car rocked from side to side and went over bumps large and small. After lying across the seat for a few minutes he sat up in irritation.

"It is not possible to sleep in this," he declared, "or even to simply rest while conscious."

Ahiru bit her lip. "Charon and I were really worried about you coming along," she said. "But we didn't want you home alone, either."

"I wouldn't have stayed behind. Particularly when Charon doesn't know how long we'll be away." Autor glanced out the window at the passing scenery. Still, even though he was looking directly at it, he barely comprehended what he was gazing at.

Ahiru averted her eyes. That was true. Charon had determined that it could take a while to visit everyone who might have information, and that depending on what they learned, they actually might go somewhere else as Autor had suggested and wait for the case to break. They had packed a couple of bags each, tying them to the luggage rack on the car roof.

"I wonder where they're going," she mumbled.

Autor was silent for a moment. "If they're planning to orchestrate some robberies, they'll probably want a large town or even a city," he said.

Ahiru looked up with a start. "We might all go to a big city?" she exclaimed. "I've never even been anywhere bigger than Kinkan . . . well, except for Mytho's kingdom, but I've always thought a big city would be different than that."

"It's very likely that we'll end up in a city, if we're able to follow them around via any clues we might receive," Autor said. "They acted too polished to be from an old-fashioned town such as Kinkan."

Ahiru wrung her hands. "Maybe we'll get lost," she said.

"We'll be fine," Autor said. "But we might have to take the subway in the city," he mused now. "It should be faster than waiting in the probable traffic jams."

"I wonder what the subway's like," Ahiru said. "We've been on trains, but not subways."

"It's quicker and more efficient," Autor said. He sounded a bit excited by the thought of trying the unfamiliar means of transportation.

Traveling in the car interested him as well. Now that he had determined sleep was not possible he was drinking in the ride, wanting to enjoy it as much as he could. The other time he had been in an automobile it had been very difficult to focus on it at all, as he and Ahiru had been in the process of being abducted.

He fell silent. From his concentrated expression, something was on his mind. He shifted, trying to think how to say it.

"Something bothers me," he blurted.

Ahiru blinked. "What do you mean, Autor?"

As they went over a particularly jarring bump she reached up to grab her escaping white straw hat. She liked to wear it during their rare travels; the last time she could recall donning it was when they had journeyed to Mytho's kingdom.

Autor pushed up his slipping glasses. "The gang members never checked to see if I was dead," he said. "And they knew you were very much alive. They had at least one potential witness to their crimes. Were they really leaving us for dead? Or did they have something possibly even more diabolical in mind?"

Ahiru tensed. "What else could there be?" she wailed.

"Think about this," Autor said. "I don't want to scare you, Ahiru, but what if they thought they would win either way? If we both died in the cold and without help, then that would eliminate the problem of Fakir's friends knowing too much.

"On the other hand, if you survived, they could continue to use you as leverage and threaten Fakir with your life if he didn't cooperate with them." He narrowed his eyes. "They've already seen what he'll do to try to keep you safe. And they know that he is not rebellious like his father, wanting a dangerous lifestyle. Maybe whether you died or not, they would act like you were alive and that Fakir had to help them to save you."

Ahiru gripped a handful of her yellow dress. She did not want to consent that it could be possible. She did not want to believe that they would be so evil. But after what she had already seen, it did seem like something plausible. They had done terrible things with her to get Fakir to do what they wanted. The memory of the cold guns' barrels against her head was still fresh in her mind.

"What about you?" she demanded. "That one awful gangster just . . . just kicked you and said you were dead! But he never even checked!"

"They probably want Fakir to think I'm dead, whether they believe I am or not," Autor said. "With Fakir in such an agonized, vulnerable state, his mind might not be as clear and it could add to his agreeability to do what they want."

"That's so cruel!" Ahiru burst out. "Fakir will feel worse and worse each day if he thinks you're dead! Especially since he's probably still blaming himself!"

"I know." Autor frowned. "There's nothing we can do about it, not until we can save Fakir."

"Maybe we should put a story in the paper or something," Ahiru said. "It wouldn't mention the gangsters or anything like that. It could just talk about some awful accident at the mansion and say that you're okay. Fakir might see it!"

"Our enemies might see it too," Autor pointed out. "There is a chance that they're aware of every move we make even without the bugs, but if they aren't we shouldn't tip them off."

Ahiru swallowed hard. "You mean if they knew, they might try to kill you?" she quavered.

"Or all of us. We don't know how long their patience will last, even if they want at least you alive." Autor shook his head. "It's too much of a risk. It's better that we get away without letting anyone know."

"Nothing was even said about us being gone from school for maybe a while," Ahiru said.

"Yes. That was on purpose." Autor pushed up his glasses. "There's a chance we might come back soon. But if we don't, things have been left to look as though we're still missing."

"I don't like making people worry," Ahiru frowned. "Lilie and Piké will . . ."

"Oh, Lilie doesn't matter," Autor said, unable to control his impatience. "She doesn't really care for you, Ahiru. I admit, I do think Piké does. But she'll have to stay in suspense along with everyone else." He sighed. "Of course, there isn't that problem where I'm concerned."

Ahiru looked down. She wanted to protest and say that of course people would care what happened to Autor and be worried. But she knew that Autor was probably right. Many would not care, and those who did would not worry so much as to lose sleep over it.

"Don't feel badly about it," Autor said. "It doesn't matter. They don't like me, but I don't think a great deal of them, either."

"I know." Ahiru looked up at him again. "I wonder how far we have to go. . . ."

"We haven't even passed the mansion yet," Autor said. "It should be coming up before long, however."

When it did, both of them gazed at it as they passed by. It stood just as it had before, cold and lonely, a ghost of the past that had become the setting for a modern tragedy. The broken balcony was at the front of the house, on its right. Ahiru squeezed her eyes shut and looked away.

". . . You said maybe they know what we're doing even without the bug things," she said softly. "Do you think we're being followed or something?"

Autor sighed. "I don't know. There's clearly no one behind us; they would never be able to hide a noisy vehicle on this road. And I doubt they could keep up if they hid among the trees. But there could be more than one spy, and maybe they're very resourceful. One might move forward amid the foliage on one side of the road while another advances on the opposite side. Maybe as long as they can see our tire tracks in the dirt they're confident that they won't lose us.

"Of course, it's only speculation," he added, "and it might not be true at all. I just don't want us to become over-confident that all is well when it might not be in the least."

Ahiru searched his serious eyes, worried. "If it is true, what do we do then?" she whispered.

For a moment Autor was silent. "We'll figure that out if it happens," he said at last.

Ahiru could only give a weak nod.

The rest of the ride proceeded largely in silence. Both of them gazed out the windows, lost in their thoughts and barely seeing the scenery. When the car came to a stop they started to attention. There was a house on the right.

Charon glanced back at them. "We've finally come into a village," he said. "This farm seems to be on the outskirts."

"They must have come this way!" Ahiru exclaimed. She leaped up in her haste to get out and go to the cottage's front door and promptly banged her head on the ceiling. "Ow! It's the only road there is!" she said in one breath as she sank back down, holding a hand to her head. Autor watched her in disbelief.

"Just because they passed through doesn't mean that anyone saw them," Charon cautioned as he opened the driver's door and climbed onto the ground. But his longing for the hopeful possibility was clear in his eyes.

Ahiru held onto the door's inside handle as she maneuvered to solid ground. Autor exited the other side, trying to ignore the vague feeling of dizziness that came over him at the sudden movement. They were about to start walking towards the house when the front door opened and an older man stepped out.

"Hello!" he called with a wave. "Is there something I can do for you folks?"

"We hope so!" Ahiru declared.

Charon walked forward to meet him halfway, pulling a picture out of his pocket. "We're looking for my son Fakir," he said. "He was forcefully taken last night by a gang of criminals." He held the photograph up for the farmer to see.

The other man's eyes widened. As he rocked back, his complexion whitened. "I was afraid something was wrong," he said. "I knew something didn't seem right. I tried to find out if any kids had been taken from Kinkan Town, but there weren't any news stories about it and I wondered if I was just imagining things. . . ."

"Then you have seen Fakir?" Ahiru interrupted, her eyes shining with a new level of hope.

"Yes, indeed." The farmer shook his head. "He and this odd group showed up with car trouble last night. They claimed they were going to a convention and taking him with them as a favor to some friend. He didn't deny it, but he acted funny, like something was wrong. I tried to make myself think he was probably just some rebellious teenager, but . . ."

"Wait a minute," Autor broke in. "The police were called about this. A local officer said he was going to call the state police in this area and have them question everyone on this road. Haven't any officers been here yet?"

"No one's been here since the group left, until you came," was the reply.

Charon frowned. "The police aren't acting as swiftly as I thought they would," he said.

Autor exchanged a look with Ahiru. He had a different theory as to what was behind this. From Ahiru's sinking expression, she was afraid he was right.

"Maybe they just started at the other end," the farmer offered. "It looks like we have a lot to talk about. I'm Lukas Mueller. Why don't you all come inside?" He gestured to the house. "I'll be happy to tell everything I know."

"Oh thank you!" Ahiru exclaimed. "We just have to find Fakir! Anything you can tell us could help."

"I just wish I could've got him to tell me what was really going on," Mr. Mueller lamented as they headed up the old walk and through the still-open door. "He was pretty close-lipped about it."

Charon was silent for a moment. "He may have been trying to protect you," he said.

"Eh?" Mr. Mueller looked confused. "Protect me? From what?"

"If you knew the truth, you might have been killed," Charon said. He gave a heavy sigh. "Fakir would far rather stay in danger by himself instead of dragging anyone else into it with him."

"Especially after what happened last night," Ahiru mumbled, looking down.

Mr. Mueller's gaze darted back and forth between them and to Autor. "Why?" he said in concern. "What happened?"

"Autor was almost killed by those horrible people!" Ahiru cried. "And Fakir blames himself for it!"

"I don't know why he needs to know about that," Autor muttered to her. He looked slightly red. Unless necessary, he did not like having his injuries broadcast. It made him feel weak.

Mr. Mueller was horrified. "You don't say," he said. "And to think, I had the lot of murderers all right here in my house!"

He shook his head, sinking into a worn couch. "No wonder the poor boy looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders," he said. "To him, he probably really did." He gestured at the furniture. "Please sit down."

His guests did just that. Charon and Autor took chairs, while Ahiru opted for the couch.

"Tell us everything that happened, from the beginning," Autor requested, leaning forward on the chair. "There could be important clues in even the most seemingly insignificant information."

Mr. Mueller rubbed the back of his neck. "I'll do my best to remember everything," he said. "And I sure hope something of it will be of use. That poor boy. If I'd only known! . . ."

"You couldn't have gone against them on your own," Charon said gravely. "They're deadly."

"I suppose so," Mr. Mueller sighed. "But still . . ."

"The best way you can help Fakir is by telling us all that you can remember, to the best of your ability," Autor said. "Then we might be able to do something."

"Alright then," Mr. Mueller said. "It started when I heard this knock on my door late at night. . . ."

xxxx

Fakir blankly watched as the gangsters started getting up from the table where they had been having their conference. His mind was all a whirl, filled with the information he had learned about their plans. It was nothing he had not expected, really; Anton seemed to have his finger in several illegal pies. One branch of his operations focused on organized crime rackets. Another, the one Fakir was stranded in, was the branch that mainly dealt with robbery and extortion.

He looked down at his hands. Several large-scale heists were planned for the ensuing weeks, and he was expected to Story-Spin for every one of them. If he did not cooperate with them, Anton had made it very clear that he would have another of Fakir's loved ones killed in cold blood. He might even have the body delivered so Fakir could see in person.

He clenched his teeth. He could not risk their lives, but what about all the other lives he would ruin by helping with robberies? And what if something went wrong and he was ordered to Story-Spin a murder? Anton had said that it could happen, yet even if he had not, Fakir would have thought of it.

Wasn't there some way to get out of this without basically signing Ahiru's and Charon's death certificates? They would never want him to do this. How far was he willing to go to keep them safe? Would he assist with robbery? Murder? Would he become a murderer to extend their lives? If he Story-Spun a murder, that was as good as killing someone with a gun or a knife.

I don't know how to get out of this, he prayed in desperation. Does it have to be one or the other? Do I have to let my loved ones die to save some nameless strangers? Do I have to let them die to save my loved ones?

"Hey, punk."

He started as a revolver prodded his shoulder. He looked back with cold, unfriendly eyes, meeting the heartless gaze of his guard.

"Get up," the thug commanded. "We have to get going."

"What are you talking about?" Fakir retorted in defiance. "Go where?"

The man looked annoyed enough to strike Fakir on the head with the butt of the gun, but he restrained himself. "We're part of the group that's going on ahead," he said. "You remember the boss said some of us would be going first, don't you?"

Fakir clenched his fists. "Yeah, I remember," he said.

"So come on. We're checking out the site for the first robbery. We have to be there by tomorrow." Again he poked Fakir with the weapon.

The boy glared at it as he abruptly stood. Without a word he stormed past, heading for the door.

"You've been given a choice opportunity, you know."

Fakir stiffened at these words. Again he looked over his shoulder, his eyes flashing and demanding elaboration. "'A choice opportunity'?" he spat. "Robbing and killing people is 'a choice opportunity'?" He turned completely around, facing the sentry head-on. "I don't see anything 'choice' about it. I don't have a choice."

"If you wanted, you could become the head of our empire some day," the thug smirked. "Your powers make you one of the most powerful guys in the world."

"I never asked for this power," Fakir said, his voice cutting the air like a knife. "I wouldn't even use it if it wasn't to protect people. To do what your boss is ordering is a mockery of everything I stand for. To use my power for something like this is nothing short of barbaric, cruel, and devilish." The words rolled off his tongue without him fully thinking. Then he stiffened, recalling what Autor had said to him in their confrontation.

"To use it to protect people is a waste," the guard sneered at him. "But you'll still be doing that."

"I know—trying to keep Ahiru and Charon from being killed." Fakir clenched a fist. "They'll be devastated when they hear about this."

"They'll never know." The sentry began to step closer, his gun pointed directly at Fakir. "Who's going to tell them that you're a criminal now? You sure can't."

Fakir glowered, even as the words cut him hard and shook him to the core. Was he really a criminal? Would he be considered as such? Or would he be thought of as an innocent victim in this mess, forced to obey with his loved ones' lives at stake? Would he be let off under the circumstances? Even if he were, would he consider himself an innocent victim, or innocent at all?

"You're wrong about not having a choice, young Fakir."

Both looked up with a start. Anton had been observing the exchange and now had come over, his hands placed behind his back.

"You could choose to let them die so they won't have any chance of finding out. And then you could turn your pen on yourself, if you wanted." Anton watched Fakir carefully for his reaction. He was not surprised or disappointed.

Fakir cursed him. "I won't just stand by and let you kill them," he vowed. "Especially not for a stupid reason like that. And killing myself won't help anything."

"Then you know what you must do." Anton regarded him with heartless eyes. "Be on that aircraft."

"I'll be on it," Fakir vowed.

But you'd better watch yourself, he added silently as he turned and was herded out the door by the guard. Because if I find a way to break free of this Hell and save Ahiru and Charon at the same time, I'll take it in an instant. And then you'll be going down. You and your evil empire.

xxxx

Ahiru, Autor, and Charon were all deeply disturbed and worried by Mr. Mueller's account of Fakir's and the gangsters' visit. As the recount drew to a close they exchanged looks of alarm and horror.

"Poor Fakir," Ahiru wailed. "He's stuck with those awful people!" She wrung her hands. "And the police haven't even come. Aren't they going to find him and get him back? Detective Kirsch said they would start on the case right away!"

"He said he thought they could," Charon said, but from his grim visage the same doubts were sinking into his heart that already plagued the teens.

Mr. Mueller looked to each one in turn. "I wish I had something more to tell you good people," he said. "I don't know where they're going at all, just that it's a long ways from here."

Charon stood. "You've been helpful," he said. "Do you have a telephone? It's time I had another conversation with my friend." He frowned. "If something isn't being done, I want him to find out why."

"Wait!" Autor exclaimed, getting to his feet as well. He swayed from the sudden motion, but threw out his arms for balance.

Ahiru leaped up now, her eyes wide in both worry and confusion. "What's wrong?" she asked, reaching to steady Autor if he needed it.

Autor was too focused on the reason for his concern to respond. "How well do you trust Kirsch?" he asked Charon.

The man's eyes widened slightly then narrowed. "Very well," he said. "We've known each other for years. You aren't suggesting that he didn't even make the call, are you, Autor?"

"It's possible," Autor said. "Just suppose that the gang has a mole on the police force. It could be anyone."

Ahiru gave him a bewildered look. "What do moles have to do with anything?" she cried. "And why would they let moles be police officers? I mean, Drosselmeyer's Story is over and animals aren't . . ." She trailed off, turning red at the look Mr. Mueller was giving her. "Nevermind," she mumbled, averting her gaze.

Charon was too occupied to step in and correct her. "It wouldn't be Kirsch," he said. "I know it wouldn't."

"For all of our sakes, I hope you're right," Autor said. "But if it isn't him, and the police never come here, then it must be someone else."

Mr. Mueller was staring at all of them. "This is sounding worse all the time," he moaned, feeling more and more ill. "Oh, if only I'd done something!"

"You gave Fakir something to eat," Ahiru said, her voice cracking as she looked to him. "And he really needed it. Those awful men might not have fed him for a long time!" She gave a weak smile. "I'm glad you didn't get hurt and that you were able to tell us all these things."

Charon nodded. "That's very important," he said.

Ahiru looked up at him. "But if we can't call Detective Kirsch, and the police aren't coming, what do we now?" Her eyes were desperate and pleading. They could not just question people and then not do anything, if they were the only ones even trying to find Fakir. In spite of the danger they had to take it upon themselves to get Fakir back. They had to keep going and not stop until Fakir was safe and sound.

Charon could only meet her gaze for a moment before he had to turn away. This was a horrible spot to be put in. Did he have no choice but to endanger Ahiru and Autor in order to save Fakir? If he tried to leave them somewhere and set out on his own, they would only think of some way to follow. It might be safer for them in the long run if they all stayed together. But . . . could he agree to that?

Could he not agree?

". . . Maybe I could call and ask if there's been any news," he said at last. "I wouldn't have to act like anything is wrong."

Mr. Mueller nodded. "I do have a phone," he said. "It's in the kitchen. Here, I'll show you." He got up, leading the group to a mounted wall telephone just to the side of the doorway in the kitchen.

"Thank you," Charon said. He stepped to the phone and took the receiver.

The others waited, just as tense as he while he dialed and the phone rang. When Kirsch answered, Charon greeted him and asked about the news. The worry in his voice was not exaggerated in the least. As the conversation continued, his eyes narrowed. When they hung up, the poor man looked overwhelmed.

"He claims he passed the word along to the state police, just as he promised," he said, turning to face the little audience. "I asked if he knew whether anyone had been dispatched to interview people along the road yet. He said he thought so."

Ahiru frowned. "So . . . what does that mean?"

"It means we still don't know anything." Charon looked weary. "He could be lying, but he could be telling the truth."

Autor looked to Mr. Mueller. "Do you think anyone else along the road would have seen them?" he asked.

Mr. Mueller gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know," he said. "They weren't planning to make any other stops that I know of. But you could ask around in case."

Charon nodded. "We'll do that," he said. "Thank you for your hospitality." He headed in determination back to the living room and to the front door. The others trailed after him.

"You just find that poor boy," Mr. Mueller said as Charon opened the door. "And let me know if there's anything else I can do."

"We'll call you when we get a chance," Autor said. "Tell us if the police actually come."

"I certainly will," Mr. Mueller affirmed. "Here, I'll give you my phone number." He reached for a notepad on an end table by the door. After quickly scrawling the number he handed the paper to Charon, who pocketed it with a nod.

As he and the teens stepped outside, a surreal sound ricocheted off the nearby buildings and a small object nicked a tree trunk next to Charon.

Ahiru gasped. "What was that?" she cried.

But at the same moment she was exclaiming, Autor was grabbing her and diving back into the house. Charon lunged after them, trying to shield them as the sound came again. Mr. Mueller stared in stunned disbelief and confusion as a second bullet traveled inside the house, narrowly missing them.

"Someone is shooting at us!" Autor yelled.

Charon slammed the door shut, tense as a third bullet drove into the heavy wood behind him. Ahiru's eyes were wide in horror. She stared at the closed door, trembling without even realizing it. Autor held her close to him, his heart racing.

The shots did not come again, but they were still echoing through everyone's minds.